Brutally Honest
by I am The Lev
Summary: Morgan's brother, Michael, returns from the Holy Lands. With his loyalties split between his king and his best friend, Michael must make difficult decisions. Hints of WillDjaq, some AllanMorgan love!angst. Enjoy!
1. Stories

Morgan was picking berries. She _had_ been hunting with Will, but after she scared off the third or fourth deer, he politely suggested that she try other means of food gathering. Morgan could tell that his usually endless patience was running out, so she went back to camp, asked Djaq to help Will instead, and set off to gather berries. In an attempt to avoid a fiasco like the last time that Morgan had gathered food, Much had insisted that Marian go with her.

"Honestly, if he has something to say, he should just come out and say it!" Marian complained, holding the basket as Morgan threw berries in. She checked to make sure that they were all safe to eat, seeing as Morgan didn't seem to be thinking about it. Morgan nodded her agreement with Marian's statement.

"It's some sort of stupid man-thing, I think. 'Oh, I'll not bother you with how I feel; I'll just say vague, ridiculous things and hope you can get the truth out of it,'" she had dropped her voice, doing an impression of a man. Marian laughed. Morgan glanced over her shoulder, appreciating Marian's laughter.

"Not being funny, Marian. I don't know Robin half as well as everyone else, but I grew up with all boys. It's a matter of pride."

"Pride? You've got to be kidding!" Marian exclaimed, gesturing wildly, sending some of the berries flying out of the basket. "Sorry," she grumbled. Morgan laughed.

"Not a problem. We're in the woods. It's not like we'll run out of berries," she excused. There was a moment of silence before Marian spoke again.

"Morgan, do you have dreams?" Morgan thought about it.

"I have nightmares," she answered finally. Marian had, of course, been referring to aspirations and goals, but she was intrigued by Morgan's simple answer.

"What sort of nightmares?" she asked, throwing out a handful of berries that weren't fit for consumption.

"I'm running through a field, and I meet someone by a tree. They tell me to prepare for the flood. Next thing I know, they rabbit off with the tree, and there's water up to me waist. Sometimes, someone pulls me into a boat. Sometimes, I drown." Marian stared, both surprised by the ease of Morgan's confession and confused by the description of her nightmare.

"Why don't you swim?" she asked.

"Don't know how," was Morgan's flat response. "I think we've got a visitor." In the distance, she could hear something that sounded like a bell. She supposed that it was the trap that Will had conjured up. They hid the berries in the bush and dashed off to the trap, finding that the rest of the group was already there. Despite the fact that he was stuck in a trap, the man that dangled several feet in the air seemed calm, smiling widely.

"Sorry, though. I haven't anything of use. Me sword and some food. That's it," he was explaining. Robin let the man down, his usual bravado absent from his tone. Morgan stood on her tiptoes, trying to see past the tightly formed circle that surrounded their guest. She couldn't see, but she knew the voice.

"Robin of Locksley! Much! I thought I recognized you!" he was saying. Morgan squeezed past the group, flinging herself onto the newcomer.

"Michael!" she laughed with pure glee, hugging him tightly.

"Morgan!" It was surreal. She hadn't seen her brother for so long that she was beginning to think that his embrace was only a part of her dreams.

"Good to see that you've made it back safe, Michael," Robin smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. "What brings you home?" Michael was a member of the King's personal guard; he wouldn't return without good reason. Michael looked up at Robin, glancing around the gang, the look in his eyes one of apprehension. Robin understood.

"Morgan, would you mind if I talked to your brother alone?" he asked, tapping the girl on the shoulder. Morgan released her brother, nodding and allowing Robin to lead Michael away from the group.

---

"Robin, I've come with a message from King Richard," Michael whispered. "He wants me to tell you that he suspects treason. He wants you to be ready for his return, though he can't be sure when that will be." Robin furrowed his brow.

"But I've heard that he was doing well in the Holy Land, lined up to march on Jerusalem," Robin muttered. Michael shook his head.

"Robin, the king has been captured." The flat admittance hit Robin like a blow to the face. He stared at Michael, almost cursing his blunt nature, his stare prompting him to continue.

"Before Christmas last. We were in Vienna, traveling as peasants. He sent me to secure out route, so I'm not sure what happened. Something about wearing a fancy ring, or wanting chicken. I can't say for certain. Either way, Leopold of Austria took him," Michael explained. Perhaps he saw the look of absolute hopelessness of Robin's face. Perhaps it was just part of his uncompromisingly honest nature. Whatever the reason, he pressed forward again.

"The King's mother is raising funds for his return, but Prince John is raising funds to keep him in captivity. The King suspected his brother's treachery, and he wanted me to come and find out how far this corruption went. Find out who was working against him."

"The Black Knights," Robin answered. Michael frowned.

"Beg pardon?"

"The Black Knights," Robin repeated. "An alliance led by the Sheriff of Nottingham. They want to meet the King when he arrives on English soil and kill him. We've managed to get a hold of their traitor's charter, proof of their treason." Michael took this information in, rubbing at his chin.

"Morgan has told me about her encounter with Gisborne in the Holy Land. He will also be done for treason," Robin put a hand on Michael's shoulder. Instead of the relieved reaction he had expected, Michael blanched.

"Robin, I must speak to Guy," he decided. Robin kept his hand on his shoulder, stopping him from walking away.

"Are you mad? What will you say to him? If he finds out that you know he was in the Holy Lands, he will kill you!" Robin cautioned. Michael picked Robin's hand from his shoulder.

"Maybe," he replied flatly, "but I can not turn my back on him. He is like a brother to me."

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but he used Morgan as bait for a dangerous trap. Why do you think she's living in the woods?" He asked. Michael glanced back at the distant group, settling on his sister, who was peeking eagerly over at them.

"No, you're not, Robin," he almost smiled. "You are glad to be able to disillusion me. Look, I don't expect you to understand, but I have to talk to him. Where you see only blackness, I see reason. I will speak to Morgan, then I will go to the castle." He wasn't asking, but telling.

A part of Robin admired Michael's forwardness. He was the same way to anyone, regardless of their rank or upbringing. He'd even spoken bluntly to King Richard before. Robin suspected that if the King hadn't laughed at the man's audacity, Michael would've been executed. Still, he was aggravated by Michael's stubbornness. Even so, he knew that there was no talking Michael out of his decision.

He knew that Michael was not looking for his consent, but he nodded anyway.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Michael."

"I do."

---

"Morgan, do you understand?" he asked, leaning against a tree, watching even the slightest of her movements. Morgan nodded slowly.

"I do, Michael, but, please, be careful. I've a bad feeling about this," she cautioned. "Guy is not himself. And me nightmares…" her voice dropped off. Michael embraced her.

"I know that Guy is not himself. That's why I have to go see him. As for your nightmares, they are merely nightmares. You're probably only having them because you can hear the stream at night. That explains all that talk of flooding," he reasoned, calmly stroking his sister's hair. He felt her nod, but the tension in her muscles served as a sign that she was not relaxed.

"Michael, what if it was a sign?" she asked quietly, revealing just how much thought she'd put into her dream. Michael stepped back, bending slightly to look her in the eyes.

"You listen to me, Morgan Elizabeth Weaver. There isn't going to be a flood. If it means anything, it probably means that you should face your fears. Now, I need to go see Guy. I'll be back," he promised.

"Guy will be at Locksley at this hour," she whispered, giving Michael her support with this simple fact. They hugged once more, and Morgan watched as her brother stole away towards Locksley.

"Be safe," she muttered again, waiting until her brother had gotten out of sight before returning to the group.

---

Allan had just flopped down onto his bed, kicking his boots off, when a surprised cry erupted from outside. Recognizing the voice as Guy's he scrambled out of bed, slipping his feet back into his boots and rushing out of his cottage. Guy was embracing someone. The someone was wearing a crusader's uniform, and from his angle, Allan could only see the messy crop of black hair on the man's head.

There was something in Guy that Allan had never seen before. He was hugging the crusader in a brotherly fashion, and the expression on his face was… well, there was no way around it, Guy of Gisborne was happy. Allan raised an eyebrow, wondering just who this Crusader was. Guy spotted him and beckoned him over.

"Allan, tell Thornton to prepare wine and food," he instructed, breaking away from the brotherly hug. The Crusader turned, a smile on his face. Allan nearly lost it, but nodded, heading to the main house, alerting Thornton to Guy's wishes. Allan ran his fingers through his hair. What was Michael doing in Locksley?

That wasn't the right question, he reflected. He knew that Guy and Michael were close friends, Morgan had told him on many occasions. The question that he really wanted answered was 'why is he in England at all?' Morgan was proud of the fact that Michael was a member of the King's personal guard. So, if Michael was in England, where was the King?

Soon enough, there was an admirable spread on the table. Guy led his friend inside.

"You must be hungry," Guy gestured towards the table, offering the food to Michael. Michael grinned, sitting down without shame and grabbing a loaf of bread. He tore off a piece, offering it to Guy, who shook his head.

"No, I've eaten. Tell me about the Holy Lands. Are you unscathed?" he asked, sitting across from the Crusader. Michael swallowed, shaking his head.

"I wish," he began, pausing to drink some wine before launching into his recounting of a fantastic story, no doubt of some battle he'd been in. He pointed to his left ear, which had a nick in it. It was hardly noticeable; Guy wouldn't have seen it had Michael not pointed it out.

"Saracen raid at Acre," he began. Guy felt his stomach turn slightly. He had a pretty good idea of how his friend had received his wound. "I was fighting on the outskirts of camp, trying to stop anymore Saracens from getting in. All of a sudden, this bloke runs up to me in a panic. Good bloke, name of Much. He's always panicky, but this time, he's real pale-like and screaming, so I give a listen. His master had been stabbed. Well, his master happened to be a close friend of mine, so I take off to the King's tent."

Allan, who had been standing back, watched as Gisborne grew more and more uncomfortable. It wasn't obvious, but Allan knew what to look for. He was nervously tapping his fingers on his knee, his eyes shifting more often. Allan kept quite, listening to Michael's story.

"I get there, and this Saracen runs out. Normally, I'd have put an arrow in his throat, but I could see inside, and me friend didn't look so good. In a funny sort of way, I guess you could say that me friend saved the Saracen's life. Anyway, I rush into the tent. The King's fine and all, and he tells me to take care of me friend. So I drag Robin, that's me friend, I drag Robin out of the tent and head for the hospital tent. He's out cold, Robin is, and even with Much guarding him, I'm worried that he'll die before we get to the hospital," Michael took a breath, chewing pensively at a piece of pork.

"I mean, he was bleeding an awful lot. He'd passed out, and even all the noise from the fighting didn't wake him up. Anyway, we get to the hospital, and I start to relax. Out of nowhere, this arrow flies at us. I suppose whoever shot it was aiming at Robin, but I stepped to the side. Good thing that we were at the hospital already, cause the arrow caught me in the ear. Nicked me good. Of course, I didn't think nothing of it. I mean, who dies from a shot in the ear? But Much was in a right state. Shouting about the blood and pointing. I ended up taking a bed right next to Robin. Of course, he was a lot worse off then I was. I was back on me feet the next day." He finished, washing his story down with a bit more wine.

"I told Robin that I'd come visit him when I got back to England, but I hear that he's taken to the woods," he commented, looking to Guy for confirmation. Guy nodded.

"He's an outlaw, a thief. We suspect that war had turned his mind. He's obviously unstable and mad," Gisborne offered mechanically, spewing the Sheriff's story before he realized that he was doing it. He looked past Michael, catching sight of Allan.

"Allan, tell everyone that I am not to be interrupted this evening. Post extra guards outside," he commanded, dismissing the former outlaw. Allan was glad for an excuse to leave. After Michael's story, Gisborne had lost most of the joy from earlier.

---

Just wanted to note in advance that there will probably be a longer turn-around period for the chapters on this story. Hope you guys enjoy it!


	2. Memories

"Guy, it's good to see you again," Michael commented quietly. He had finished eating, and the pair of them sat in front of the fire, staring into the dancing oranges and reds. He looked over at Guy, noting the dark circles around his eyes. That wasn't anything new, Guy had had them since his parents passed away. Guy snuck a glance at Michael, nodding in agreement.

"It's good to see you, too, Michael. Things have been… different since you left," he didn't seem to think that 'different' was the exact word that he wanted, but he settled with it.

"I stopped by me house," Michael brought up casually, "no one was there. Do you know where Morgan and me mum are?" Guy sighed.

"Yes and no. Morgan is in the woods with Robin Hood. She's an outlaw, Michael. I tried to take care of her, but… I can't say I blame her," he quietly admitted. Michael sat forward in the chair, showing Guy that he was listening. It was like an old ritual between them.

After Guy's parents had died, they'd spent many nights of their adolescence in this manner. Sitting in front of a fire, telling each other their problems. True, Michael did most of the listening, his life being far more simple than Guy's, but the fact of the matter was that they were always there for each other. Guy looked back at Michael, feeling that it was safe to continue.

"Michael, I did a terrible thing. I put Morgan in danger. I forced her into a proposal and made her bait for a trap. I promise, I would've taken care of her and your mum, but she was enraged. She fled into the woods with Robin Hood. I cannot protect her, if she ever decides to come back," he apologized. Michael put a hand on his shoulder.

"I forgive you, Guy, and I'm sure Morgan does, too. You obviously regret doing it," Michael paused, trying not to press his friend too hard. "There's something else, though, isn't there? Something far more terrible." Guy looked uncertainly at Michael, the debate raging in his eyes. Michael sat back and gave him the time to think, basking in the warmth of the fire. The first time they'd done this, they were only fifteen.

---

"I'll race you to that tree!" The boys tore across the field, laughing loudly as Guy's large bloodhound loped after them. The sun was setting, and Lady Gisborne watched the boys from the doorway of the small manor, the house that they'd managed to hold onto after the rest of their lands were seized.

She looked tired, haggard. She had ever since Guy's father had fallen ill mere months before. Though she wasn't sick herself, it seemed that the Lady Gisborne was dying with her husband. They did their best to hide their illness from their son, wanting their remaining time with him to be pleasant.

Guy tagged the bark of the tree, panting, a smile of triumph on his face. He looked back as Michael arrived seconds later.

"I win," he gloated between breaths. Michael laughed, his hands on his knees as he drew deep breaths.

"Lucky," he huffed, offering an excuse, "Got a cramp." Guy playfully pushed the side of Michael's head, sending the boy off balance. The weaver's son stumbled, but the smile stayed on his face as he fell onto his back, looking at the puffy clouds that floated overhead. Guy flopped onto his back, admiring the clear blue sky.

"Michael, I think that it's getting warm enough to go to the creek," he smiled, glancing at his friend. Michael nodded, rolling onto his stomach.

"Yeah, we can go tomorrow. It'll be great," he sounded only half as enthusiastic as he really was, tired out by the day's exertions.

"Michael, do you think we could invite Morgan?" Guy asked, absently picking pieces of grass from the ground, tossing them into the air and blowing at them as they gently came back down.

"Why?" Michael asked, weaving two long pieces of grass together. "She'll only hang around and do those annoying girl things that she always does." Guy smiled.

"Yeah, that's the point," he grinned. Michael crumpled the pieces of grass, tossing them into Guy's face.

"Guy! She's me sister!" he said, horrified.

"She's pretty," Guy countered. Michael made a gagging noise, pretending to be sick.

"That's gross, Guy. Besides, I thought you liked that girl from Knighton. What's her name? Mary Anne?" Michael asked, picking two new pieces of grass and resuming his weaving. Guy turned horribly red.

"Don't be dumb, Michael. I barely even know her. Besides, her name is Marian," he corrected, missing Michael's sly grin. There was a moment of silence in which a particularly puffy cloud passed over the sun.

"Guy, you were kidding about my sister, right?" Michael asked suddenly. Guy cracked up.

"Of course. It's like she's my sister, too. Don't be dumb, Michael," he repeated jokingly, playfully punching Michael in the arm. Michael retaliated, and soon they were rolling through the dirt, engaged in one of their many play fights, Guy's bloodhound running in circles around them, barking loudly, calling attention to the spectacle.

A startled cry erupted from the manor. Guy scrambled to his feet immediately, looking back at his house. His mother was running out, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Mother?" Guy asked, running to her. He had, of course, been aware of his father's illness, even though they had tried to hide it from him. As his mother tenderly wrapped her arms around him, shaking with silent cries, the pieces fell into place. Guy's father was dead.

His mother followed only days later, leaving Guy with only a handful of servants and a house full of memories that made him more upset than anything. But Michael was there. He came by as often as he could, wanting to be there for his best friend. His own father had passed away not too long before that, and he understood what Guy was going through.

The night after the funeral, they sat in front of the fireplace of Guy's house. They didn't talk for the longest time. Guy stared blankly ahead, and Michael occupied himself by stoking the fire, sipping at the small cup of wine in his hand, and idly weaving a basket. It made Guy laugh, the sight of someone with Michael's athletic build, weaving away, but his friend did it constantly, as if it were second nature to him.

"Michael, I'm alone," he finally said. Michael didn't reply, knowing that his doleful friend had more to say. "I'm alone. I have no family, soon no house. I don't even have a Gisborne!" As he spoke, his voice got louder and faster, and he stood, giving the cup in Michael's hand a frustrated swat. It was mostly empty, but the bit of wine that was still inside spilled across the floor. Michael didn't seem to mind, continuing to weave the basket in his hands.

"You have me," he noted plainly, wrinkling his nose as his fingers slipped. He quickly corrected his mistake, finishing off the basket and putting it on his head like a hat. "Don't worry, I don't have a Gisborne, either." Guy laughed in spite of himself, though by the time it had cut through the sorrow it was better described as an amused sort of scoff.

"You're a good friend, Michael."

"And I'll always be here for you."

---

Guy sat forward, making his decision.

"Michael. Can I trust you?" he asked. Michael shot him a look that screamed, "Why did you even ask that?" Guy managed a smile, small, but honest.

"Michael, I have committed terrible crimes against the crown. I was the Saracen that you saw leaving Robin's tent. I was the one that shot the arrow, trying to finish him off. I was trying to kill the king," he admitted quickly. "I am a member of the Black Knights, and we plan to kill the king as soon as he sets foot on English soil. I put your sister in danger because I wanted to get to Hood, because, honestly, I hate him for existing."

"I know," Michael replied, managing to floor Guy with two, little words.

"You know?" he asked. Michael nodded.

"I knew that you were the one in the tent," he tapped his forearm, "I saw your tattoo." He wasn't angrily accusing Guy of treason, nor was he yelling at him for putting his sister in potential danger. He was just listening, like he always did.

"Michael, do you not understand? I am part of a conspiracy to kill the king!" Guy repeated, keeping his voice hushed, just in case someone overheard.

"I heard you the first time, Guy," he said calmly.

"And?" Guy asked, wanting more of a reaction than level-headed statements. "Aren't you going to tell me that you have to tell the King and tell me that I was wrong and tell me that my mortal soul is damned?" Michael shook his head.

"I can't tell the King. That would be betraying you, and I said that I'd never do that," he pointed out. Guy was taken aback. He suddenly felt guilty for doubting Michael's loyalty.

"Although," Michael suddenly said, warranting an uneasy glance from Guy, "Put me sister in danger like that again, and I'll have to hit you in the mouth." Guy laughed, pouring out some wine.

"Duly noted," he nodded in a pseudo-serious manner.

---

Michael was heading out the door several hours later, laughing at something that Guy had said, the pair of them more than slightly intoxicated.

"Where will you stay tonight?" Guy asked. Michael burst into another fit of unrestrained laughter.

"Don't be dumb, Guy. My house, of course!" he laughed, stumbling slightly. Guy shook his head.

"Nah, you'll not make it. You're drunk," he shook his head, though it made things spin, so he promptly stopped.

"Sure, I will. I'll make it. I cannot be deterred," Michael paused to laugh again. "Ok, you're right. I am drunk." The men laughed again, ignoring the fact that the rest of Locksley was sleeping.

"Allan!" Guy called in an almost sing-song voice. Allan wasn't sure that he wanted to answer, but he cleared his throat, answering from his post.

"What is it, Giz?" he asked. Michael burst into further laughter.

"Hahaha! He called you 'Giz!'" Guy gave Michael a light push in the shoulder.

"Shhh. I'm asking him a question. Allan, is the guest room ready?" Allan wasn't sure; that sort of thing was really Thornton's thing, but the older man was surely asleep.

"Erm, yeah!" he nodded.

"Make sure he gets there," Guy commanded, pushing Michael towards Allan. Allan pulled him toward the guest house, trying not to laugh at his drunken giggles. Allan wondered if he was this ridiculous when he was drunk and made a mental note to ask Morgan. Beside him, Michael tripped over his own feet, laughing wildly at his misstep. Allan shook his head. Never mind, he erased the mental note. He didn't want to know.

---

It was late the next morning before Michael woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs. He slowly got out of bed, holding his forehead. He walked to the main manor, starting to laugh at the sight of Guy, but it made his hurt, so he stopped.

"The wine was a bad idea," he muttered with a smile, sitting down. Guy squinted back at him, as if the bright sunlight outside hurt his head. He scoffed, knowing better than to try and laugh.

"The wine wasn't the bad idea. The amount of wine was the bad idea," he exacted. He ate his own breakfast quickly. "I'm late. I have to go to the castle, but you can take your time. If you swing by at about three, I can introduce you to the Sheriff, see about getting you a job." Michael nodded, tearing at a piece of bacon as he listened to Guy, not at all offended when Guy dashed out of the door.

He looked out the window. It had to be nearly noon. He mentally reminded himself that he never wanted to drink like that again, picking halfheartedly at the food in front of him.

"You must be Michael," a kindly voice said from behind him. He turned, seeing an older man. He smiled genially.

"Yes, that's right. Michael Weaver," he offered a hand, which the older man took, shaking it firmly.

"I am Thornton. If you require any assistance, do let me know," he said professionally. Michael nodded.

"Actually, if you could show me where the bath is, that would be most helpful," he hinted politely, looking down at his dingy clothes.

---

Michael sank into the hot bath, trying to sort everything out. He couldn't tell King Richard about Guy. That was out. He had a feeling that Robin wouldn't take that piece of news too well. He scrubbed the dirt from his arms and chest.

No, he couldn't betray Guy. He looked at his clothes from across the room, taking in the red cross on the front of his shirt. He heaved a sigh. He couldn't betray King Richard, either. He put his head under the water, blowing bubbles, thinking. For the first time in his life, he was having trouble making a decision, his loyalties clearly split. He scrubbed viciously at the dirt on his body, wrinkling his nose at how quickly the water became cloudy.

"Having fun?" Michael jumped for the second time that day, turning to see Robin leaning in the doorway.

"A bath, actually. Guy wants to introduce me to the new sheriff. He wants to get me a job," he explained, washing out his hair. Robin nodded.

"Michael, you can't accept a job in the castle. If the Sheriff finds out that you know about the Holy Lands, there won't be a maybe. He _will_ kill you."

"How's he going to find out? I'm not going to tell him," Michael pointed out, using the 'don't be dumb' tone that he so casually used with Guy.

"Gisborne might," Robin suggested. Michael shook his head, picking a rose petal from his hair.

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

"I trust him." Robin furrowed his brow. What was with this family and protecting those who didn't deserve it?

---

There's chapter two! I go on Thanksgiving break tomorrow, and I might take a break from writing for a bit. I'm getting worn down. XD

Anyway, this story is going to be written largely from Michael's point of view. He's a bit like Morgan, except far less giddy, if that helps. Hope you guys enjoy!

Also, you should drop some reviews. Yup.


	3. Messages

Hey, guys! Sorry that this chapter took forever; I was feeling a little burnt out. I tried to work a little bit of fluff into this chapter, but I found that it'll work a lot better in the next chapter, which should be a bit like the calm before the storm. The turnabout should be a lot quicker with the next bit, I hope. Enjoy and review!

---

Michael slipped the fresh shirt over his head, smiling at the servant girl who had brought it to him. She was giggling as she surveyed his athletic build. Michael wasn't sure what that was all about, but she seemed nice enough, so he figured it couldn't be anything bad. He glanced at himself in the mirror, straightening the black shirt and smoothing the fabric of the black pants. He made a mental note to ask Guy why everything in his wardrobe was black. Another servant girl entered the room, keeping her head down.

"Thornton called for you," she announced, prompting the first servant girl to leave the room in a fit of girlish giggles. The second servant closed the door behind her, sliding the bandana from her head and looking up.

"Hello, Morgan," Michael greeted cheerily, turning to face his little sister. She did not look nearly as pleased.

"Michael, what did you say to Robin? He's in a rare mood. Came back to camp muttering and grumbling," she asked, hoping that a description of Robin's obvious aggravation would stir Michael to give her a direct answer.

"I told him that I would go to meet Guy at the castle. He wants to give me a job," he explained. Morgan nodded, slowly taking in the information. She hadn't really decided if this bit of news was a good or bad thing.

"Morgan, I know that he wronged you, but I really think that he regrets it," Michael nodded, "I think he regrets a lot of things."

"Michael, are you sure?" Morgan asked, "Not being funny, but we tend to cling to images of people from when we knew them best. Guy is not the same person you knew five years ago."

"I know. He's definitely changed, but I think that he truly wants to be good. I can tell. He feels bad about using you, and a part of him doesn't want to kill the king," he reassured. Morgan bit her bottom lip, not entirely convinced. Michael gave her a look, resorting to something that he knew she couldn't refute.

"Imagine it was Allan. You'd give him the benefit of the doubt, wouldn't you?" Morgan sighed, letting Michael know that he'd hit a bull's eye with that comment. "Speaking of Allan, have you told him?"

"No," Morgan answered quickly, looking down at the floor. Michael smirked, walking past his sister, ruffling her hair before he stepped out of the door.

"Not being funny, Morgan, but you may want to get on with it."

---

Michael felt like he was part of a club, standing outside of the Great Hall with Guy and Allan. Guy was giving him last minute instructions, and Allan was still pretending that he didn't know Michael. Michael wasn't exactly sure if Guy remembered Allan from all those years ago, and he wasn't sure if Guy knew about the relationship between Allan and Morgan. To be safe, he avoided mentioning it and reciprocated Allan's pretense of unfamiliarity.

"And, for God's sake, Michael, do not talk about the King," Guy rattled off before opening the door to the Great Hall. The trio stepped inside, standing before the Sheriff, waiting for him to talk. Though he was staring straight at them, Michael was sure that the man wasn't aware of their presence. Wasn't aware, or didn't care. Either way, they stood in awkward silence for all of five minutes before Michael finally couldn't stand it anymore.

"Sheriff, me name is Michael Weaver. I am a close friend of Sir Guy's, and I was told that I may have a future working as a bodyguard," he announced. Beside him, Guy held the bridge of his nose, anticipating a headache. The Sheriff glanced disinterestedly at Michael. Why did Gisborne always insist on bringing every pathetic, little puppy home?

"Can you fight?" he asked.

"Would I be looking for a job as a bodyguard if I couldn't?" Michael asked in turn. The Sheriff sat forward, giving Michael the once-over. Tall. Thick, black hair. A certain aura of self-confidence that could very easily be mistaken for arrogance.

"Gisborne, you didn't tell me you had a brother," The Sheriff commented, looking to his right-hand man. "Weaver, you said? Like the lovely, little blacksmith?" Michael tried not to glower too much. He didn't know the sheriff very well, but he knew that he didn't like how he had referred to his sister. The Sheriff saw this reaction and delighted in it, laughing and leaning back in his chair.

"Send him after the lovely, little blacksmith. If he can bring her back, he can have a job. If not, I'll have a hanging." The proposition threw Michael off-kilter.

"You'll have to go ahead and hang me. I'll not bring you me sister," he blurted. The Sheriff stood, walking around the table.

"You, dear boy? Who said anything about hanging you?" The Sheriff laughed, signaling to his guards. "Gisborne."

"Me?" Guy asked in a state of shock. "My lord, I am your master at arms!" The Sheriff seemed to briefly consider this before shrugging.

"Don't care. Take him to the dungeons." The guards led Guy from the hall, leaving a very bewildered Allan and Michael.

"Ah, the horns of dilemma. Your best friend or your sister? Better hurry up and make your decision. Time's running out. Bye now!" Allan was forced to drag Michael from the room before the former Crusader made the decision to lop off the Sheriff's head.

---

"Not being funny, Michael, but you need to calm down. You're not going to help either one of them by killing the Sheriff," Allan cautioned, keeping a safe distance from Michael. The latter was pacing angrily, trying to figure out what kind of sick game the Sheriff was playing. Threatening to hang Guy made absolutely no sense; the Sheriff had nothing to gain from it.

"Just what is he trying to do?" Michael asked in an angry whisper. Allan furrowed his brow, trying to work out the same question.

"Well, if you bring Morgan back here, he'll torture her until she tells him where the camp is. He doesn't stand to gain anything by hanging Guy, but he won't lose anything for it either, least of all sleep," he thought aloud, glancing over at Michael.

"So, it's Robin and his gang that the Sheriff's really after?" Michael asked, his frown deepening. Allan confirmed the conclusion with a minute nod.

"What if I told Robin and his gang? I could bring Morgan back here, and they'd be ready to rescue her," Michael suggested. Allan narrowed his eyes, going through the possibility in his head.

"No. Sheriff will expect it. They'd be trapped in the castle and killed. We can't risk it; England is depending on them," he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Michael was painfully reminded of his obligation to king and country, wincing as it threw more complications into the matter.

If Robin were killed, it'd snuff out the little hope that remained in Nottinghamshire. He would be condemning King Richard to certain death. Allan was right. England needed Robin and his gang. Still, he could not abandon Guy. He'd made a promise, and he wouldn't break it. Michael paced up and down the length of Allan's small cottage.

A plan began to form in the back of his mind. It would involve sacrifices, but he was more than willing to make them, if it meant keeping everyone safe.

"Allan, I need you to do something for me," he muttered softly. "Go talk to Morgan. Tell her what's happening. Tell her not to tell Robin. I have a plan."

---

Allan shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Morgan's gaze. Seeing her eyes never helped. He'd done as Michael had asked, telling Morgan about the Sheriff's ultimatum and Michael's decision to press forward on his own. Morgan hadn't said anything yet, and that made Allan anxious.

"And he didn't tell you what his plan was?" she finally asked. He shook his head, careful not to look her in the eyes. Michael hadn't told him anything, but that told Allan that he would most likely disagree with it. "Then I have to tell Robin. If Michael won't tell anyone, he's planning something dangerous." As she turned to leave, Allan shot out a hand, gently resting it on her forearm.

"Morgan, don't. Michael said that he doesn't want Robin to know," he said, relaying Michael's instructions. He caught Morgan's steady stare, noting the conflict in her green eyes. He gently put his arm around her, giving her a reassuring hug.

"It'll be alright, Morgan. Michael's good at figuring these sort of things out," he reassured, managing a smile. Morgan wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Allan, I'm worried," she admitted. "What if he rabbits off and does something stupid?"

"I don't think he will," Allan lied, trying to comfort her. She hugged him tighter, sighing contentedly.

"Thank you, Allan. It sounds more convincing when you say it," she whispered. Allan couldn't have felt like more of a heel if he tried.

---

"Michael, we can't go through with this," he said forcefully, shaking his head to reinforce his disagreement. He had been right in thinking that Michael's plan was disagreeable. Michael looked back at him.

"Why not?" he asked, though he knew the objection that Allan was about to raise.

"Morgan can't handle losing you again. Did you even think about her?" Allan asked angrily. Michael resented the question, throwing a glare at him that he'd probably picked up from Guy.

"Yes! I thought about her every moment! I'm doing this to protect her!" he snapped. Allan scoffed.

"Not being funny, Michael, but you're not doing this for her. If you were doing this for her, you wouldn't leave her again!" he accused. Michael shook his head.

"Allan, don't think that I haven't thought about this. This is the only way to make sure that she's safe," he nearly pleaded, the look in his eyes asking Allan not to argue the matter anymore. Allan ignored the look.

"This is wrong, Michael. This is wrong, and I can't help you," he stated, standing straight. He couldn't help but think that the gesture would've been more intimidating if not for the fact that Michael was a good six inches taller than he was. Michael leaned against the wall of the small cottage.

"Allan, I will do this with or without your help. It's the only way to save them all," he said. He wasn't angry; he was simply stating a fact. He had resigned himself, and Allan realized that there was nothing he could do to talk him out of it.

"Michael, I can't," he repeated. "I can't do this to her." Despite the gravity of the situation, Michael smirked. _Hopelessly in love, the both of them,_ he thought. He slipped his hand into his pocket and handed Allan a sealed letter.

"This is for Morgan." He caught Allan's disapproving glare and continued. "I know that I can't explain everything in a letter, but it'll help. The rest is up to you." Allan took the letter, inspecting it, glancing between the thick parchment and Michael. He gave an inaudible sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly as he tucked the letter into his pocket.

"Thank you, Allan," Michael muttered softly.

---

It took Michael the entire ride from Locksley to Nottingham to compose himself. Even though the plan was entirely his, he couldn't help but feel sick. Allan was right. It was wrong, what he was planning to do, but he felt that he was also right. It was the only way to save them all.

The dungeon didn't do much to calm his nerves. It reminded him of a prisoner's camp he'd been taken to in the Holy Land. He'd only been there for a few days before he'd been rescued, but the images of broken men and the sounds of pained screams were burned into his mind. The sight of Guy in a cell made his stomach turn.

"Guy, are you alright?" he asked in a low voice, trying to stop the gag reflex.

"Michael, don't bring Morgan back here. She'll be tortured and executed," Guy cautioned just as quietly. Michael was glad that Guy still had it in him to worry about someone else, even though his own life was in danger. Michael made sure that no one was around to hear, leaning in to talk to Guy.

"Don't worry. I've found a way to get you out and keep her safe," he assured, reaching through the bars and putting his hand on Guy's shoulder.

"How?" Guy asked, curious. He'd been running scenes through his head for the better part of the afternoon, trying to accomplish what Michael apparently had. The former Crusader smiled gently.

"No need to worry about it. Just listen to what I'm about to say and remember my words tomorrow, no matter what," he instructed. He waited until he was sure that Guy had given him his undivided attention.

"Do not punish anyone. As soon as you are freed, go to Locksley. I've left a letter with Thornton that explains everything." Before Guy could question the vague directions, Michael stepped away, leaving Guy in the dungeon with his thoughts.


	4. Confidences

Morgan couldn't sleep. Even though Allan had temporarily put her at ease, her worries returned stronger than ever. She slipped silently from the camp, walking until the trees thinned, and she was standing in a small clearing.

She didn't know if the other outlaws knew about the clearing, but they never went there, so she used it as a personal sanctuary. The moon lit up the small meadow, casting slender shadows of the trees across the soft grass.

She spread a blanket on the ground, settling down to look at the moon. She'd been doing this almost every night, finding that it helped calm her. She heard rustling in the grass and sat up, surprised to find that Will was walking towards her. He sat down across from her, avoiding the blanket, somehow aware that the empty space she had left belonged to someone else.

"So, this is where you go at night," he said casually, twirling a bit of wood in his hands before slipping a knife from his boot. He began to whittle without looking, waiting for Morgan to respond. She didn't, so he continued.

"It's nice. Quiet," he commented. "You know, you don't have to bottle things up." He was the last person that Morgan ever expected to hear that from, and perhaps that was what caused her to finally speak.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to brush the observation off. Will fixed her with a look that said she wasn't fooling him.

"Morgan, you're upset. You can talk to us about it. That's part of what being in this gang means," he prompted. Morgan picked a blade of grass, quickly wrapping and unwrapping it from around her finger, sneaking glances at Will. It was odd. He never really talked to her; she suspected that she annoyed him sometimes, but now he was carrying a conversation, encouraging her to talk to him. He didn't look like he was going anywhere, so she took a deep breath.

"I'm worried," she confessed quietly. "About Michael and Guy. They're caught up in something, and I worry that Michael will do something reckless to get them out of it."

"What sort of something?" Will asked.

"The Sheriff told Michael that if he didn't come and find me, he would hang Guy. Of course, it's some kind of elaborate plan on the Sheriff's part, and Michael's being stubborn. He says that he doesn't want Robin to know about it, and he doesn't want anyone to try and help. He's got a plan, but I'm sure that it's dangerous and stupid. He's a lot like Robin, you know? Risking his own neck if he thinks it'll help." Morgan stopped herself, taking a deep breath.

"Maybe he doesn't want Robin to know because he knows him. They fought in the Holy Land together, didn't they? So, Michael will know about Robin's self-sacrificing tendencies," Will suggested practically. Morgan acknowledged the suggestion, glancing up at the sky.

"That's true," she murmured. "Will, how do you do it?"

"Beg pardon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Morgan kept looking at the sky, as if scanning the heavens for something.

"Never mind," she sighed. Will shook his head.

"You can't just ask someone something vague like that and then tell them to forget about it, oddball," he joked, giving Morgan a playful shove. She smiled for the first time since he had shown up.

"Well, I don't mean to pry, but you do love Djaq, don't you?" Morgan's answer came in the form of the deep shade of scarlet that crept into Will's face. "Don't you ever want to tell her?" Will fumbled over his words, gathering his thoughts before managing a proper sentence.

"This does not leave this meadow, Morgan Weaver." Morgan nodded, eager to hear what Will had to say. "I'm serious. If you tell anyone, I will hunt you down." Morgan raised a hand as if swearing an oath.

"I swear on me mum's grave that I'll not utter a word," she promised. Will frowned.

"But your mum's still alive," he pointed out. Morgan waved a hand dismissively.

"It's an expression," she said casually, waiting for Will to continue. He glances around, as if checking to make sure that no one else was in the clearing.

"I do love Djaq, and I want to tell her, but I won't," he started. "The timing isn't right. I love her, but I value our friendship enough that I don't want to make things awkward." Morgan empathized.

"How will you know when the timing is right?" she asked, like a child seeking the counsel of a wise adult, which was odd when one considered that Will was a few years younger than Morgan.

"Morgan, is this about Allan?" Will asked, trying to clarify what she was going on about. His answer came in the form of the light pink tinge to her cheeks and the way she suddenly glanced down at his hands, finding his whittling to be endlessly fascinating. Will lightly shook his head. She was so odd.

"Look, that's different. You've known Allan for how long? And you're already sneaking around to see him." He saw her start to deny it and preemptively shushed her. "Hypothetically, of course, because you know that Robin would be incredibly irritated if he found out about the both of you. The point is that you just need to dive in. Hypothetically, of course." Will gave her a supportive smile, blowing the excess shavings from the carving in his hand and handing it to her.

"Don't stay up too late," he muttered, standing and heading back to camp. Morgan nodded, inspecting the smoothly carved, wooden coin. On one side, there was a heart, and on the other there was an intertwined pair of letters, an "A" and an "M." Morgan smiled, running her thumb over the grooves, grateful that Will was understanding of her predicament. Hypothetically, of course.

---

Michael needed to see her again, following Allan through the densely packed trees, wondering how he could navigate so effortlessly. Even with the moonlight, it was rather dark. Allan led him into a clearing, a quiet, little meadow. She had her back turned to them, staring up at the waning moon. They approached quietly, taking their places on the blanket without a sound.

Michael noted with a grin that Allan had almost sat down next to Morgan, as if he'd been doing so for a while. Instead, he settled diagonally from her, and Michael sat down next to his sister. He noticed her quickly shoving something into her pocket as she turned to face them.

"Michael, I hate your plan," she began immediately. "It's stupid and reckless." Behind them, Allan bit back the urge to agree.

"Morgan, you don't even know what I'm planning," Michael defended.

"Am I wrong?" Morgan asked. Michael sighed and shook his head.

"No, you're right. It's very reckless, but it's not stupid. Guy will be able to keep his job in the castle, and you will be safe." He paused, considering the fact that his sister was a wanted outlaw who was sentenced to hang if caught. "Well, safer than you would be if I took you back to the castle."

Morgan chuckled, though she couldn't say that she felt any better about whatever foolish, macho plan Michael had cooked up. She had decided to classify the plan as being foolish and macho, having already established that it was stupid and reckless.

"And if the plan fails?" she asked, trailing off to allow for an answer. Allan cleared his throat.

"It won't. It's foolproof," he grudgingly admitted in an attempt to make Morgan feel better. Michael nodded rapidly in agreement.

"Foolproof," he repeated in confirmation. Morgan rolled her eyes. Maybe it was some sort of man thing.

"I hope you're right, you crazy fool," she joked, shoving Michael in the shoulder before lying down, staring up at the stars. It was nearly like old times, save for the fact that there was no conversation. Tom's bragging. Michael's dreaming. Morgan's laughing. All conspicuously absent. It was Allan who spoke, breaking the dead silence.

"That cloud looks like a cow." Both of the Weavers knew perfectly well that there wasn't a cloud, never mind one that looked like livestock. Allan hated silence.

"When all of this is over, I'm going to buy a cow," Morgan ventured. "Just one, for milk and stuff. I'll sell the milk in the market place. Can't imagine that there'll be as great a demand for weapons once the Crusade is done and all."

"I doubt it. Even when the war ends, the nobles will still want guards. Guards need weapons. Besides, you can always make horseshoes and stuff," Michael pointed out, laughing when Morgan wrinkled her nose. She could make horseshoes, of course, but it wasn't something that she enjoyed doing.

"When King Richard comes back, so much will change. Sheriff will be out, probably hung for treason with the rest of the Black Knights. Robin will have his lands back, and the rest of us can go back to living normal lives," Morgan continued.

"Like anything you ever do is normal," Michael commented, earning a swift smack in the head from his little sister. "Allan, back me up?" Allan scoffed.

"Not being funny, Michael, but I'm not going to get involved in this one. This is one of those sibling fights, and you're going to lose," he predicted. Michael and Morgan laughed.

"At least one of you has some sense," Morgan giggled.

"Oh, please. You're only saying that because you're being sweet on Allan," Michael muttered. Morgan elbowed her brother in the side, though it was too late for him to take back his words.

"Don't be dumb, Michael. It's like Will said, the timing's not right for that sort of thing," Morgan quoted, although she knew that she'd taken it out of context.

"You were talking to Will?" Allan asked, sitting up.

"Just before you got here," Morgan answered, craning her neck to look up at him.

"He was here?" Allan asked a little louder. Morgan sat up.

"Yeah. He was making sure that I was ok," she answered. "We're in the same gang, so what's the problem?"

"Not being funny, but you two sound awfully close, and you don't seem too bothered by it," he commented. Morgan laughed.

"What's wrong? Jealous?" She asked the question as a joke, but he immediately averted his gaze, not saying anything. She stared at him for a moment before it clicked in her head.

"You were really jealous," Morgan said slowly. Allan didn't answer her, standing and taking a few steps away, staring at the ground in front of her feet. He had mastered hiding his feelings behind his jokes and stories. He had hid his feelings from Morgan for years. It wasn't that he was afraid that she wouldn't love him; he knew that she did. That's why he had to hide his feelings.

He couldn't let himself drag Morgan down that path he was on. Morgan was too caring, too kind to follow him into his world of lies and danger. She was pretty; she could marry a rich lord somewhere. She could be provided for. She could be happy. If she went with him, she would have nothing.

"Allan, you were really jealous," she repeated, standing herself. He slowly brought his gaze up to meet hers. Seeing her eyes didn't help. Morgan had always worn her heart on her sleeve, and it made situations like this all the more painful. He could see the need in her eyes. He could see the love there.

"Morgan, don't even think about," he shook his head. "We can't." Internally, he frowned at himself. Was that it? Was that all he was going to say? No, she deserved more.

"We can't be together. I'm no good. You deserve more. You deserve to be happy, with someone who can give you all of the things that you need. I can't do that. I'm just a thieving spy," he began, not looking at her as he spurted out his reasons, focusing his gaze at the floor. He hadn't noticed that Morgan had walked to him until she had thrown herself into his arms, gently holding either side of his face as she pressed her lips to his.

"Well, who's thirsty? I'm thirsty. I'll be at the stream, getting water because I'm so thristy," Michael excused, leaving Morgan and Allan alone.

Allan was returning the kiss before he knew what he was doing, putting his arms around Morgan, drawing her closer, relishing the feel of her body against his. Suddenly, his mind was yelling all the reasons that he hadn't done this before, snapping him out of it. He pulled away.

"No," he muttered, releasing her and stepping back. "Morgan, we can't do this. I work for the Sheriff. You run with Robin. It won't work."

"Tell that to Robin and Marian," Morgan countered.

"That's different!" Allan snapped, not wanting to admit that he was in love with Morgan every bit as much as Robin was with Marian. It would only make things harder.

"How?" Morgan's hands hand moved to her hips, signifying her frustration. Allan didn't have an answer, looking down at the ground again. He took another step back. All he could see in his head was a flood of possibilities, none of them boding well for them.

Robin could find them out, throw Morgan out of the gang just as he had done to him. Even worse, the Sheriff could find them out. He didn't even want to think about what he would do. So many things could go wrong. He made up his mind, already hating himself for doing what he had yet to do. Morgan's pleading voice didn't help. "Allan?"

He stepped close, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace, one hand holding the back of her head, the other around her middle. He kissed her. It was a long, passionate kiss. He pulled away, whispering in her ear.

"We can't be together."

Then he left her standing in the meadow by herself. He couldn't have felt like more of a heel if he tried.

---

"Allan, why would that ever make sense?" Michael asked as soon as they were back in Locksley, gaping incredulously at the man. "First of all, she can always tell when you're lying. Second of all, you're only going to depress her."

"Depress her for the moment. If she's not with me, she can find some rich noble to marry. She can have all the things that she needs. She can be happy!" Allan shot back. Michael looked at him for a second before pulling his fist back and punching the man in the face.

"You idiot! Don't you get it? She happy when she's with you! She doesn't need gold or jewels or land. She needs you!" Michael barked, angrily prodding Allan in the chest. Allan rubbed at the stinging spot on his jaw.

"It would never work," he muttered.

"Why? Are you trying to say that she's not good enough for you?" Michael accused. Allan snapped.

"I'm not good enough for her! Don't you get it? I drink and I gamble and I lie and I steal! She's better than all of that! Who am I to lead her into that sort of life?" He yelled back at Michael. Michael shook his head.

"Allan, do you love her?" he asked.

"Yes," Allan admitted.

"No, you don't," Michael disagreed. The contradiction caused Allan to flare up.

"I do! I love her! She's beautiful and funny and caring! I love her more that anyone I've ever met! I love her more than life!" he blurted out, walking right into Michael's set up.

"And she feels the same way! You've always felt this way about one another. How can you walk out on her like that?" Michael asked.

"How can you?" Allan returned.

"Because you'd be there for her, you stupid pillock!" Michael raised his voice to match Allan's, giving the man a shove in the shoulders. "That's the only reason that I can go through with this! Because I knew that you would be there for her!" He stepped away, shooting Allan a dark glare.

"You'll have to sort this out later," he finally muttered, watching as the sun began to rise over the horizon. "We've got to take care of Guy."

---

Okay, okay. The friendship!fluff with Will and Morgan was mostly overshadowed by the horrifying amount of love!angst with Allan and Morgan. Still, it was there. There'll be another bit of fluff later on, but for now, it's about to get a bit darker.

Hope you enjoyed! (Please don't be mad at me!)


	5. Actions

Little John was the first one up. He stretched, climbing out of bed and looking around the camp. Something was wrong. He tilted his head to the side. Will was fast asleep, one of his arms hanging off the side of his bed. Djaq was curled up on the foot of her bed, mostly concealed with her blanket. Much was on the verge of waking up, shifting constantly in his sleep. Robin was mumbling and rolling about; John suspected that he was dreaming about the Holy Land again. Marian was the only one who looked normal in her sleep. Morgan was… Well, that was the problem, Morgan was missing.

It didn't look like she'd even gotten into her bed. John shook Much, waking him up, figuring that he'd do so on his own soon anyway.

"Morgan's gone," he stated flatly. Much rubbed his eyes, squinting over at Morgan's loft.

"Relax. I'm sure that she just got up early," he muttered, rolling back over. Little John waited for half a minute before Much scrambled out of bed.

"John, that doesn't make any sense! She never wakes up early. We practically have to drag her out bed!" Much scolded Little John as if he'd made the suggestion. Soon enough, the whole camp was awake, wondering sleepily where the resident oddball had wandered off to.

"Maybe she's in the meadow," Will said with a yawn. "She was there last night; she might have fallen asleep." Without waiting for someone to volunteer, Djaq left the camp to check for her friend.

"What was she doing in the meadow?" Marian asked curiously. Will shrugged.

"She was just looking at the stars." He didn't feel that it was prudent to mention anything that had come up in their conversation. "We talked for a while."

"Talked about what?" Robin asked.

"Nothing really," Will said with such finality that Robin knew it would be no good to ask anymore. Djaq ducked back into the camp.

"She's not there. She was worried about her brother. Do you think she went to see him?" She asked.

"Michael was staying in Locksley. We should check there," Marian agreed.

---

Thornton wished that Robin wouldn't sneak up on him like this. He was getting on in years, and he feared that one day his heart wouldn't be able to take the sudden appearance of his young master and his entourage.

"Master Robin, how may I help you?" he asked.

"Has a girl been around here? Short, black hair, green eyes, sort of hyper?" Robin described. Thornton smiled.

"Ah, yes. She came by not too long ago, asking for Sir Guy's guest, Michael. He and Allan left for Nottingham. Something about freeing Sir Guy," Thornton explained. Robin looked taken aback.

"Free Guy from where?" he asked. Thornton frowned.

"You didn't know? The Sheriff had him arrested yesterday. He told Michael that he was to bring his sister to the castle, or he would have Guy hanged. Poor lad was completely shaken up. He and Sir Guy have apparently been friends for a long time." Robin turned back to the gang. They'd spent most of the previous day in the woods. Most of them looked shock, except for Will, who simply looked as though he'd figured something out.

"Will?" Robin asked.

"Morgan said something about Michael last night. She said that he was planning something, and that he didn't want you to know about it. Morgan was really worried, she must've gone to Nottingham," he concluded.

"Why wouldn't Michael want our help? He knows that we fight against the Sheriff at every opportunity," Much asked.

"Yes, but we rarely do so to help Gisborne," Djaq muttered.

"He didn't want help because he didn't want to put us in danger," Marian spoke up. "Think about it. Michael fought with you in the Crusades, Robin. He knows what kind of person you are. Rushing into things, no consideration for your personal safety. He didn't want us to wound up caught." Will nodded, reflecting on his conversation with Morgan. It made sense.

"We've got to get to Nottingham, then. We need to get Morgan out of there before something happens," Robin said solemnly.

---

The Sheriff waited as his guards escorted Gisborne to the scaffold. He stifled a laugh. Gisborne looked downcast, utterly melancholy. Honestly, the man was so melodramatic.

"Don't worry, Gisborne. I'm sure that you're little friend will come back for you!" He shouted in mock reassurance. _Hopefully, Hood will be with him_. As if on cue, the pathetic, little puppy wandered through the portcullis, stopping only to glance at Guy and the scaffold before marching up to the Sheriff.

"Well, dear boy? Where is the lovely little blacksmith?" The Sheriff asked, rubbing his hands together expectantly, peeking around Michael as if expecting Morgan to be there.

"Morgan isn't here," Michael announced flatly. The Sheriff's grin remained, though it visibly faltered for a moment.

"Ah. Then you came for the hanging!" The Sheriff crowed. Michael shook his head, a grin spreading across his features. The Sheriff ran his tongue over the fake tooth in his mouth, frowning. That grin reminded him of the annoying way that Robin would do something heroic and agitating. He pushed the nearest guard. "What's that grin? What is he doing?"

"Before, you asked me if I could fight," Michael reminded, drawing his sword. "Well, if you'd like to keep breathing long enough to find out, I suggest that you pick up a sword." The Sheriff stared at Michael as if the man had just asked him what color the sky was.

"You do realize that I have nearly fifty guards with me right now?" he asked, leaning forward and whispering, as if trying to be discrete. Michael nodded, putting the blade of his sword to the Sheriff's throat.

"I also realize that I could kill you before any of them get the chance to move," Michael whispered, equally discrete. He pointed at the nearest guard's sword. "Pick it up."

"A clue: no. If you kill me, Prince John kills all of Nottingham, your sister and Gisborne included. Do you want that on your conscience, pathetic, little puppy?" The Sheriff hissed arrogantly. To his great surprise, Michael began to laugh.

"You assume that I have a conscience, Sheriff," he chuckled, prodding the Sheriff in the chest with his sword, smiling with satisfaction as his robes darkened with a small spot of blood. "You also assume that I came to Nottingham to visit me friends and family. Did you really think that Prince John would entrust his bid for power with you? You can't even catch an outlaw in the woods! I have a message from Prince John. He says that you should consider your rule in Nottingham to be terminated." He laughed again as the Sheriff paled, realizing the brilliance of the Prince's plan. The Sheriff was sure that he was going to die, which honestly made him more angry than anything else. He'd survived an assassin, a squad of Saracen killers, and Gisborne's whining. He wasn't meant to die like this. Before he could utter a fantastic string of swears at the pathetic, little puppy, the laughter died on the man's lips, his eyes widening in shock.

Michael fell on all fours, his breathing labored, a knife glinting as it stuck from his back. Allan calmly retrieved his weapon, wiping off the blade before he sheathed it, looking casually at the Sheriff.

"Attacked by outlaws in the woods. Unbelievable," he muttered. The Sheriff looked between Michael, who was quickly bleeding out, and Allan, who had just killed the man in cold blood and supplied an acceptable cover story to send back to London.

"Well done, Allan. I like this, this is good. Everyone hear that? The Prince's messenger was attacked by outlaws in the woods. He was never here," he announced. The crowd that had gathered around the gallows parted as Guy leaped down from the scaffold, dashing through the crowd and kneeling by his dying friend.

"Michael," he gasped, holding him by the shoulders. Michael took a rasping breath.

"Guy, this wasn't about you. Remember, I've left some of my personal affects in Locksley." He nodded, though it caused him obvious pain to do so. He began to cough, throwing his hand over his mouth. When he pulled it away, the first thing that Guy saw was the dark red blood covering his hand. Michael's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Guy caught him before he hit the ground, slowly lowering him to the ground.

His friend was dead.

---

Morgan had snuck into Nottingham just after her brother. As the horrifying scene played out before her, she began to move forward, her legs walking of their own accord. She noticed Allan move before anyone else did. Just as he plunged the knife into her brother's back, a calloused hand clamped down over her mouth, stopping the scream in her throat.

She allowed herself to be dragged away, not resisting the strong arm that wrapped around her waist, pulling her away from the horrible sight before her. She stared at her brother's unmoving body, trying weakly to pry the hand away from her mouth, trying to call to her brother.

"Morgan, we have to get out of here. There'll be time to grieve when we're all safe. Michael wanted you to be safe," someone whispered feverishly in her ear. The Sheriff's men had started to move Michael's body, dragging him across the ground.

"We have to get his body. We have to bury him!" Morgan murmured, her voice muffled by the hand over her mouth. As soon as they were through the portcullis, Djaq took her by the face, trying to calm her down, though she looked quite shaken herself.

Will released Morgan, allowing her to latch onto Djaq, dissolving into sobs. He could barely imagine what Morgan was going through. When his father was killed, it had very nearly torn him in two. There was grief. There was rage. He could clearly see both in Morgan as she cried, still trying to walk back into Nottingham, tears streaming as she repeatedly told Djaq that they had to go back for Michael's body.

Still, his father had been killed by a guard. A faceless entity that Will only knew as a pawn of the Sheriff. Morgan had just watched her brother die at the hands of the man that she loved. Will shook his head.

He hated the Sheriff. He hated Allan. He even hated Morgan, if only just a little. He hated her because he knew that even though Allan had just stabbed her brother, she would find it in herself to forgive him. Will couldn't even bring himself to truly forgive Allan for leaking secrets, and Morgan would undoubtedly forgive him for cold-blooded murder. She was just so odd.

Djaq led Morgan into the woods, calmly telling her that everything would be alright, and that they would honor Michael properly. Marian soon joined Djaq, gently wiping the tears from Morgan's eyes, putting an arm around her shoulder as they walked.

"Morgan, he was a good man. He loved you very much," Marian said soothingly.

"Why did he have to die? Why did Allan kill him?" Morgan asked between sobs. Marian and Djaq exchanged glances. They didn't have any answers to give her.

---

"He didn't mean it," she repeated to herself, viciously wiping the tears from her eyes. "He didn't mean it." The sun had gone down long ago. They'd spent the day doing trivial tasks, honoring Michael at sunset. Morgan hadn't been able to compose herself, so Much had delivered a fine eulogy, talking about how Michael had all the qualities of a hero, how he'd gone down fighting for King and country.

They'd managed to procure his Crusaders uniform from Locksley and had burned it on a pyre. Robin seemed almost as deeply affected as Morgan, commenting hollowly that it was "too much like Roy." Morgan vaguely remembered Allan telling her something about a man named Roy, but she didn't particularly care to try and remember. She felt bad about that, knowing that Roy, whoever he was, had been of great importance to the group.

She sat next to the stream, watching the water flow over the rocks, glistening under the moon light. She looked up at the moon, her mind returning to Nottingham. Allan's quiet, discrete movement. The flash of the knife. Michael hitting the ground. She shook her head, trying to force the images from her mind.

"He didn't mean it," she said again, knowing that he had been lying, unable to understand why. She couldn't stop herself from crying, hugging her knees to her chest, shaking as racking sobs jolted her body. "He didn't mean it."

"Morgan?" Morgan didn't look, but she knew it was Little John. What he was doing awake at this hour, she wasn't sure. The man could sleep through a storm.

"He didn't mean it," she tried to repeat, but she realized that she was crying too hard. Little John sat down next to her, draping an arm across her shoulder. She reached up, gingerly grabbing his hand, trying to say "thank you." John shook his head.

"Don't talk," he instructed. "Just breathe." Morgan took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. John sat there with her until she calmed down enough to speak again.

"He didn't mean it," she whispered hoarsely. "There was a reason that he did what he did. I know there was," John nodded, knowing that she was talking about Allan. He wasn't sure what the little Judas had done to deserve her tears, but he made a mental note to hit him the next time he saw him. He could tell just by looking at the pair that they were in love with each other, and it didn't make sense to him that Allan would kill Morgan's brother. Then again, most of the things that the daft little bugger did made any sense to him.

"He's a foolish man," John said, standing, picking Morgan up. "Now, you go to bed." Morgan sniffled, hugging him tightly around the middle before quietly picking her way to her loft. John smiled after her. This was one of those black and white issues that he had such a knack for. Morgan was a sweet girl, and Allan was a fool.

---

The end!

No, I'm only joking. There's a another chapter after this. I can't leave all these loose ends! I have a couple of papers due this week, so my update may be a little delayed. Sorry in advance for the delay!

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It's pretty angsty.


	6. Notes

Guy of Gisborne was not happy. He made sure that Michael's body was properly taken care of, buried beside the weaver's father. A part of him said that he should post guards. Morgan would surely try to visit the grave. He ignored the suggestion of his subconscious. There would be other times to try and catch Robin and his outlaws. Now was the time to grieve.

He seriously considered killing Allan, but Michael's annoyingly calm voice kept sounding in his head. _Don't punish anyone. As soon as you are freed, go to Locksley._ The directions told Guy several things. The first thing that it told him was that Michael could read him like a book. He had foreseen Guy's violent reaction, predicted the action which took all of Guy's willpower to stop. He wanted to hurt Allan. Allan had killed his friend. Allan had killed his brother.

Allan seemed to know what was flying through Guy's head. He kept a safe distance from the man, remaining uncharacteristically quiet. Without waiting for orders, he fetched the horses and readied them for the ride ahead. The second thing that Michael's directions told Guy was that he had planned his death. He had prepared himself to die to secure Guy's freedom. Guy shook his head. How did selfless people like that come to exist, and why did they always suffer so cruelly at the hands of fate?

Guy soon found himself heading back to Locksley. The Sheriff didn't seem interested in a hanging anymore. Guy assumed that his superior was shaken by the very-near-death experience that Michael had forced on him. Guy was grateful to be back in Locksley, even though he'd only been away for a day.

Thornton met him outside, handing him a letter without waiting for the harsh demand. He looked at Guy, the sympathy clear in his eyes. Despite his undying allegiance to Robin, Thornton couldn't help but think that beneath his cold, harsh exterior, Guy had the potential to be a good man. His friendship with Michael seemed to reinforce Thornton's hypothesis.

As it was, Thornton did not bristle when Guy rudely snatched the letter from his hands. Guy ripped the letter open, taking in the sloppy scrawl that he recognized as Michael's. For a moment, he stared at the parchment, his eyes roving over the words without actually reading them.

He stomped up to his room, slamming the door harder than he intended to, finding some comfort in the loud noise that the heavy oak produced as it swung shut. He sat down on his bed, gripping the letter with both hands, settling down to read it.

_Guy,_

_My dearest friend, do not blame Allan A Dale for what he has done. I asked him to commit the dark deed. You know me to be an honest man, brutally honest, as you have pointed out on several occasions._

_As such, I had an obligation to tell King Richard about you, the Sheriff, and the Black Knights. This is something I could not do._

_Even though I am loyal to King Richard as an Englishman, I am loyal to you as a man. You are my dearest friend, and I cannot live to speak against you. In doing so, I would not only betray you; I would betray who I am as a person._

_In my death, I hope to save your life. I must be honest. I do not condone your actions. My hope for you is that you will soon realize that your quest for power is denying you of whom you truly are. Please, be the Guy of Gisborne that I once knew. My friend. My brother._

_God bless you,_

_Michael_

He scanned the letter over and over. It all made sense. Michael had told Allan to kill him so that he couldn't tell the Sheriff where his sister was, and so he couldn't tell King Richard of the Black Knights. He would not betray Morgan. He would not betray Guy. Despite his gratitude, Guy was still angry.

There had to be some other way. Who did Michael think he was, making such a noble sacrifice? Guy stood abruptly, flinging the letter across the room. Who did he think he was, deciding that his friend deserved to live more than he did?

"That wasn't fair, Michael," he muttered towards the ceiling. He felt that maybe, just maybe, if he glared at it long enough, it would open to the heavens and his friend would come back and explain himself. "That wasn't fair! You didn't deserve to die!"

"Are you saying that you do?" Guy swiveled on heel, turning to the doorway to face Allan. The usually mirthful shine was gone from the man's eyes. He stood in the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Do you think you deserved to die today?"

"Maybe," Guy replied with a sneer. "But I know that he didn't have to do that."

"I tried to talk him out of it," Allan remarked off-handedly. "I gave him other ways out. He wouldn't take them. Said that this was the only way to make sure that you kept your job and Morgan kept her head." If he was trying to make Guy feel better, he was doing a terrible job. The bottom line was that Michael was dead, and he was dead because he was protecting Guy. He looked up to yell at Allan, but the other man had already gone.

Guy took a deep breath, shutting the door once more. He locked it and sat on his bed. Then, he cried. It wasn't the uncontrolled, racking sobs that he knew Morgan would permit herself. It was controlled. A silent stream of tears running down his flushed cheeks. He hadn't cried since his parents died. It was a sign of weakness, he'd told himself. But he would allow himself to cry for Michael. For his friend. For his brother.

---

Will had made sure she didn't get caught in Nottingham. Djaq and Marian had helped her back to camp. Much had spoken at the funeral. Little John had comforted her in a moment of intense emotion. That much being the case, Morgan should've seen it coming.

She had gone to get berries. Will had insisted on doing it for her, but Morgan had refused. She understood that he was only trying to help, but she didn't want the special treatment. Special treatment only made her think of why she was receiving it, leading her back to Michael's death. Keeping busy helped.

He didn't offer to help her, for which she was glad. He simply leaned against a tree, chewing on the end of a piece of straw. Morgan tossed berries into a basket, contemplating the silence that had settled over them. She didn't feel as connected to Robin, even though he was the leader. She liked him well enough, and they were quick to joke with one another, but they never really had meaningful conversations. "Casual" probably best described their relationship.

"Lovely weather," he commented, causing Morgan to smirk. Heavy rain clouds hung overhead, blotting out the sun, casting a thick, clammy feel through the air.

"Lovely weather for a kip," she amended, shoving the baskets into his arms. "Hold this." He accepted the charge, discretely throwing out berries that he knew they shouldn't be eating. One day, he'd have to draw a chart for her.

"Have you always been so bossy?" he asked with a laugh. She rolled her eyes.

"Since the day I was born," she admitted sarcastically. "That's what Michael always…" Without realizing it, she'd stumbled across the subject that she'd been trying to avoid. She done a fine job of doing so, but with an off-handed comment Robin had managed to drop her right in the middle of it.

"He saved my life, you know," Robin mentioned. "At Acre."

"He told me that you'd been stabbed," Morgan sighed. Robin nodded.

"Much went to Michael after I told him to get help. He came right away. He was the last person I saw before I blacked out. Much said that he carried me all the way to the medical tent. There was always something about him that made people feel at ease," Robin said, shifting the straw in his mouth as he talked. "He was a good man."

"He was," Morgan agreed, "He spoke of you often. 'Robin's so strong.' 'Robin's such a good leader.' 'The best marksman I've ever seen.'" She smiled, noticing how Robin tried not to smile at the praise.

"He spoke of you, too. At night, when we were ready to go to sleep. The rest of us would talk about women back home. Wives. Fiancés. Sweethearts. Not Michael. He would talk about how proud he was of you. 'Me sister is a blacksmith.' 'Me sister can read and write like a noble.' 'Me sister can fight as well as anyone.'" Robin laughed at the peculiar shade of red that Morgan's cheeks had adopted.

"I miss him," she suddenly admitted. "I miss him, and it hurts." Robin nodded.

"As it should," he said plainly, giving her a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Robin," she muttered quietly. Robin nodded, looking down at the basket of berries.

"Basket's full. I'll take it back to camp. Take your time," he almost ordered, heading back to the camp. Morgan waited until he was out of sight and made her way through the trees. She came upon the graveyard faster than she expected. She pulled her hood over her head, walking across the yard to the roughly hewn, wooden cross that she knew to be her father's.

Next to the older grave, the ground had been freshly disturbed. A small stone marker had been erected next to the cross. Morgan read her brother's name several times before her mind accepted the finality of the letters carved into the stone. She sat at the foot of the newly occupied grave.

"Hallo, Michael. I told you that I hated your plan," she said softly. Her body wanted to cry, but there were no more tears left in her. Her eyes fell on the piece of parchment at the base of the stone marker. She picked it up, noticing that her name was emblazoned across it.

She slowly opened the letter, considering the parchment for a moment before focusing on the actual words. It didn't help that her eyes were stinging with tears that wouldn't come. It didn't help that she was a slow reader. It didn't help that Michael's penmanship was atrocious.

_Morgan,_

_I'm sorry that it had to be this way. What I did, I did to save Guy and yourself. Just as I would have inevitably betrayed Guy, so too would my unrelenting honesty betray you and Robin and the gang. Do not blame Allan. He was only doing as I asked him. He cares for you, as do I._

_You must be strong, Morgan. You are left with the choice of saving Guy and saving the King. Hopefully, there is a way to do both. Whatever choice you make, you must remain true to yourself. Do not compromise who you are. Not for anything, or anyone._

_Tell Robin that I am sorry that I did not tell him about my plans. I did not want him to feel obligated to rush in and help, nor did I want to force him to help Guy, a task which I do not believe he would delight in. Make sure that he knows that I did not doubt his abilities. England needs him, Morgan, as I'm sure people have told him._

_Tell mum the true account of what happened. There will undoubtedly be rumors. Tell her that I love her, and I will watch over her in heaven. I will watch you too, Morgan, along with everyone else. Don't any of you join me too soon, or I'll not have time to warn everyone._

_Stay strong. Stay honest. Stay safe. Face the flood._

_I love you, Morgan._

_Michael_

Morgan folded the letter, staring at the stone marker. _Face the flood._

"I'm going to Locksley," she said after a moment of silence.

---

Allan was aware that he was being watched. He had just lied down for a kip, closing his eyes as his head hit the pillow. He slowly opened an eye, exhaling as he took in Morgan, standing next to his bed. He didn't understand how she kept sneaking up on him like that.

She wasn't exceptionally graceful or quiet. On the contrary, she was a bit on the clumsy side. Still, she had snuck into his little cottage without him noticing, staring down at him. He couldn't read her expression, which concerned him. She was either very angry, or very upset. Or both. Whatever the case, he understood.

"We need to talk," he said before she could, sitting up, patting the bed beside him. She remained standing.

"You read the note," he said more than asked, standing. Morgan nodded. He took a deep breath. She wasn't talking, knowing that if she didn't, he would. Allan hated silence.

"I didn't mean it, Morgan. He would've gone through with it, even if I hadn't," he blurted out. "At least… At least he didn't suffer as much." Morgan continued to stare him down, making him uneasy.

"Morgan, I wouldn't have done it if I thought there was another way, I promise!" Still nothing. She had accepted his reasoning for stabbing Michael, but she still wasn't talking.

"This isn't about Michael?" he guessed. She raised an eyebrow, her hands moving to her hips. "This isn't about Michael." She shook her head.

"Morgan, help me out, here! I can't read your mind, especially not when you do this." Morgan gave him a questioning look, feigning innocence.

"Don't give me that. You know what I'm talking about. That… that woman thing that you do!" Allan gestured in frustration, frowning. "It's hardly fair, though, is it?" Morgan glanced out the window before looking back at him, sighing, but not speaking.

"You enjoy being difficult, don't you?" Allan asked in an accusatory tone. The way Morgan's eyes flashed told him that he was spot on.

"Why aren't you yelling at me?" Allan asked, nonplussed. If Morgan yelled at him, he'd know what to do. He'd throw it right back at her. She wasn't yelling, though. She had yet to say a single word. "Morgan, say something!"

"I don't blame you for Michael," she finally said. Allan stared at her.

"Is that it?" he asked. She stepped close to him, barely an inch of air separating them. She looked up at him, standing on her tiptoes, getting in his face. There were no heartfelt words. Allan didn't apologize for the night in the meadow. Morgan didn't confess that she's loved him since they were children. Allan didn't admit to feeling the same way. It wasn't necessary. They said everything with their eyes.

Allan slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close, kissing her. She hung her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his, returning the kiss.

"Not being funny, but if Robin or Guy find out, I don't think they'll be too happy," Allan commented as they momentarily parted. Morgan considered this for a moment, shrugging.

"I won't tell if you won't," she whispered playfully, pressing her lips to his once more. Allan grinned.

"Deal," he muttered, his words muffled through the kiss. Morgan wasn't sure that this was what Michael meant when he said "Face the flood," but she couldn't think of a better way to drown.

---

The end! Anyone want some chips to go with that cheese? XD So, yes. That's the end of this story. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Thanks to Stripysockz, Marian66, Soapy-Liedown, PetiteDiable, Gewher, and RixxiSpooks for the reviews!

I have a few plot points to work out before I start my next story, but I'll try to write a few oneshots until then. If you have any requests for a oneshot, let me know, and I'll see if I can't write something for you!

Hope you guys enjoyed the story, and reviews are always welcome!


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